Perched on the make-shift saddle of a baggage-camel at an apparently break-neck height above the ground, Muriel still had the feeling that she was playing an elaborate game as she jogged along beside Daniel’s taller and more magnificent beast, with its gaily coloured tassels and trappings, and its rich white sheepskin upon which its rider was seated. Behind them rode a black-bearded son of the desert, with a white bernous over his head, silver-mounted pistols stuck into his sash, and a rifle slung over his shoulders. Daniel was holding her guiding-rope, and her two hands were therefore free, as she bounced up and down, to cling on to the sides of the saddle—a circumstance for which she was grateful, although it caused her to feel like a captive being led into slavery.

At the gate of the hotel her companion’s camel knelt at a word from him, and he dismounted; but in her own case her less accustomed mount was not so easily induced to go down on its knees, and startled by its antics, she recklessly slid from the saddle and hung for a moment at its side, her legs kicking about in the air. A moment later she tumbled into Daniel’s arms, and presently found herself deposited, like a piece of baggage, upon the doorstep, in front of Mrs. Bindane, who happened to be standing in the entrance bullying the hall porter.

“Hullo,” said Kate, casually, “the washing’s come home.”

Muriel felt herself all over carefully, as though to make sure that her anatomy was still reasonably complete, and then, linking her arm in that of her friend, described to her the day’s strenuous events; while Daniel, feeling that his presence was not required during these confidences, went over to his attendant to give him his instructions.

“My dear,” said Muriel enthusiastically, “we’ve made a lovely camp out there. It’s like a story out of the Arabian Nights.”

Kate Bindane looked at her suspiciously. “Well, you be careful of those stories,” she said. “They generally need a lot of expurgation before they’re fit for family reading. Isn’t this the man you told me kept a harÎm in the desert?”

“So they say,” she answered. “Anyway he’s evidently given it up.”

“He’ll soon collect another,” her friend replied. “I expect that’s the Grand Chief Eunuch he’s talking to now.”

“Did you get my note?” asked Muriel, anxious to change the subject.

“Yes,” she smiled, “and your esteemed orders received the prompt attention of our Mr. Bindane, who ’phoned your papa, and ordered the car, and made himself quite useful.”

After the tragic death of Rupert Helsingham, four weeks ago, Kate Bindane had taken a gloomy aversion to their steamer, and had persuaded her husband to get rid of it, and to come out to this hotel on the edge of the desert. Muriel had, on more than one occasion, spent the night here with them in their comfortable suite of rooms; and now as she said “good-bye,” she made arrangements for future meetings and visits, while Daniel, in a spasm of hospitality, suggested that they should make use of his camp as an occasional halting-place.

“During the day, while I’m at work in Cairo,” he said, “you can make use of my tents. I’ll tell my servant to look after you.”

Kate Bindane laughed. “O, come now,” she answered, “that’s driving your birds right over my gun. It makes shooting too easy.”

Daniel was perplexed. “What d’you mean?” he asked, as he seated himself beside Muriel in the car.

“Well,” said Mrs. Bindane, “you’ve got the reputation of being a bit short with your fellow men; but to say you’ll be glad to entertain us provided that you yourself are not there is the limit.”

Muriel turned to Daniel. “She’s only joking,” she assured him; “that’s her way.”

Kate uttered an exclamation. “Oh, you little swine!” she said to Muriel. “You’re on his side now!”

“No, I’m not,” Muriel protested, hastily, and the colour came into her face.

Daniel looked from one to the other. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I’m all at sea.”

The car moved away, and Muriel sat back in her corner luxuriously. She was very tired, and her feet ached. She was happy to find that she no longer felt awkward in this man’s presence, and that her feminine intuition had not deserted her, for she seemed to have learned the trick of managing him. It was only necessary to make herself useful to him, to roll her sleeves up and show a little muscle, and his antagonism evaporated. He was prehistoric—that was all; and yet she could not associate the idea of brutality with him. No, she had not quite classified him; but at any rate she realized that she had probably been wrong in regarding him as being contemptuous of her sex. He was only contemptuous of uselessness.

She glanced at him as he sat in silence by her side, and she noticed that his expression had become grave, and even sad.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You look unhappy.”

He aroused himself, and smiled; but his eyes were troubled.

“Yes, I feel a bit blue,” he said. “I suppose it’s the thought of my new job.”

“I’m rather surprised,” she commented, “that you have taken it on. Why did you?”

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “I thought it was my duty,” he said. “You see I happen to speak Arabic as fluently as I speak English, and I’ve made a study of the native mind. I understand these fellows and they understand me; and Egypt just now is craving for understanding.”

“You’ve got a lot to live up to,” she told him. “My father thinks you are going to be the saving of the country. I’m always hearing your praises sung.”

He looked gravely at her. “You call to my mind,” he said, “the prayer of Abu-Bakr, the first Khalif. When he heard that people were praising him, he used to say something like this: ‘O God, Thou knowest me better than I know myself, and I know myself better than other people know me. Make me, I pray Thee, better than they suppose, and forgive me what they know not.’”

Therewith he relapsed into silence once more; and Muriel, feeling that there was a sort of momentousness in this hour of his entrance into the political arena, held her peace. There was in her mind a sense of pride at the part she was playing in a great event. She felt that she was, as it were, a sharer in a diplomatic secret; it was almost as though she, too, were serving a great cause. Suddenly the things which made up her social life seemed to become insignificant, and her existence took on a larger aspect.

As they drove up to the door of the Residency, she turned to him as though he were an old friend. “I’m awfully glad my father is going to have you with him,” she said. “I feel a sort of personal interest in it all.”

Daniel’s reply was interrupted by Lord Blair’s appearance on the steps. He had heard the car drive up to the door, and had hastened out to greet the newcomer.

“Welcome, my dear Daniel,” he exclaimed, holding out his arms as though he were going to embrace his friend. “This is splendid, capital!”

The two men shook hands, and as they did so, Lord Blair winced as though his fingers had been crunched in a man-trap. For some minutes thereafter he held his right hand loosely in his left, bending the joints carefully to and fro, under the pretence of fiddling with his rings. Even after they had entered the drawing-room and Muriel was dispensing the tea, he was still clenching and unclenching his fist, and bending and straightening his first finger as though surreptitiously beckoning to somebody.

Muriel told her father of her morning’s work, and described with enthusiasm the camp in the desert.

“I’m very sorry,” he answered, turning to Daniel, “very sorry indeed, that you are not going to live here in the house, but I bow to your wishes. You must consider yourself entirely free; and indeed I know we shall lose you if you are not your own master.”

“Oh no,” Daniel replied, “I’m quite prepared to follow a routine. I’ll work here all the morning, talking to your native callers, and I’ll do the correspondence at the camp in the evenings.”

“That will be admirable,” said Lord Blair; and presently, when tea was over, he led Daniel away to his study.

“And now,” he said, when they were seated, “let us discuss the question of your salary....”

Daniel interrupted him. “Oh, don’t bother about that. I’ll take whatever the position carries—I don’t suppose it’s much, as it’s a Foreign Office job. I’ve got a small income of my own, you know; and my tastes are simple. Get me as much as you reasonably can, of course; but don’t worry about it.”

Presently Lord Blair spoke of the question of Knighthood, and attempted to persuade him to reconsider his decision; but Daniel was obdurate, and very reluctantly his chief abandoned the project.

“Let me follow my own instincts,” said Daniel. “From the native point of view your adviser on Oriental matters does not need that sort of thing.”

“Don’t you think he does?” asked Lord Blair, rather doubtfully.

“Certainly not. If you’ll let me, I shall turn out all the fine English office furniture from my official room: the desk, and the red leather chairs, and the pictures. They’re all right for a governor, but not for the—what shall I say?—the court philosopher, as I intend to be. I want plain bare walls, bare floors with just a rug or two, and a few chairs. No books, or papers, or maps, or calendars, or clocks.”

“As you wish, my dear Daniel: I rely on you,” said Lord Blair.

“You see,” he continued, “what English pro-consuls in the East so often lack is the go-between, the man who tries to get at the native soul, so to speak. You, as governor, must represent the might and the justice of England; but I must be the voice saying ‘Don’t be afraid: we shall not outrage your religion or your philosophies or your traditions.’ Now I can’t be that if I’m sitting at an American desk, with an eyeglass in my eye, and a stenographer tapping away beside me, and a large office clock ticking on the wall. I should be so unconvincing. Do you see what I mean?”

“Quite, quite,” Lord Blair answered. “I dare say you are right.”

His face, however, belied anything of conviction that he attempted to put into the words. He did not want Daniel to orientalize himself to any marked extent: he wished him to take his place in the English and Continental society of the Residency. He had great ambitions for him, and the idea of training him ultimately to occupy his own exalted position was developing rapidly in his mind. He dreaded anything in the nature of eccentricity: he had the characteristic British dislike of the crank. Yet he could not imagine Daniel as ever becoming unbalanced, for a kind of equilibrium and stability were apparent in all his actions.

On the other hand, the idea of the new Oriental Secretary adopting the rÔle of philosopher appealed to him; he saw the force of it; for his experiences in the East had made him realize that if a white man is to gain the confidence of a brown race he must be, in both senses of the words, capable of a brown study.

When Daniel returned to the drawing-room to say “good-bye” to Muriel and to thank her, it was already dark outside, and the room was brilliantly illuminated by a number of somewhat inadequately shaded electric globes. There were five or six people in the room; and he paused for a moment in the doorway, wondering whether he would give offence by beating an immediate retreat. He was paying very careful regard to his behaviour, however; and when Muriel called out to him, he was obliged to enter.

“I’m going now,” he said to her, approaching the sofa where she was seated. “I just wanted to say ‘thank you.’” He looked neither to right nor left.

Lady Muriel turned to a very smartly dressed woman who was seated beside her on the sofa, and introduced Daniel. His hands were, at the moment, clasped behind his back, and he bowed to her with great gravity. She held out her hand, but, seeing that he had considered the more formal bow sufficient to the occasion, withdrew it again. He thought that perhaps he had been stiff, and at once held out his tanned and muscular paw, but finding that it was too late, thrust it into his coat pocket, at the moment when, for the second time, she offered her fingers. He snatched his hand out of his pocket, but simultaneously she withdrew hers again.

Muriel laughed nervously, but Daniel faced the situation frankly.

“I’m sure I don’t know whether I’m supposed to shake hands or not,” he said. “What do people do in society?”

“Which ever you like,” the lady murmured, with a titter of laughter.

“That’s no good,” he answered, “unless you do what the other fellow’s going to do. Anyway,” he added, bending forward and very deliberately taking hold of her irresolute hand, “how d’you do?”

He glanced about him, and observed that the others were watching him with mild amusement. Near him was Sir Frank Lestrange, the First Secretary, whom he had met before—a fair-haired, clean-shaven man of some forty years of age, whose rigid formality seemed incapable of disturbance. Daniel shook him warmly by the hand, but for all the impression he made he might have been greeting a tailor’s dummy.

Near the window he saw Lady Smith-Evered, talking to a pale young Guardsman, who appeared to be in immediate need of a tonic. He went over to her, and made his salutations with cordiality, for a year ago he had made her acquaintance at the Residency, and he had a vague recollection that she had taken offence at something or other he had said. He held out his hand, but once more his pocket became its sudden place of refuge as she bowed with all the stiffness that her undulating figure permitted, and, with no more than a glance in his direction, turned to continue her conversation with the Guardsman.

In another part of the room an elderly man with sleek, grey hair was talking to a heavy matron whose respectable cloth dress looked as though it had been made for her by a builder of club-room furniture. Daniel thought he recognized the man, and took a few steps towards him, but, deciding that he was mistaken, turned on his heel and, narrowly avoiding a collision with a small table, returned to Muriel.

The curious thing was that though these situations were embarrassing, he did not appear awkward. Muriel observed this remarkable fact, and wondered at it. He was certainly out of place in a drawing-room, she thought, but he was not therefore out of countenance; and his sang-froid seemed to deserve a more friendly treatment than it was receiving. She therefore got up as he approached her, and in a very audible voice asked him if he would let her help him to arrange his official quarters on the morrow.

He thanked her, and then, lowering his voice, asked her if she could explain Lady Smith-Evered’s very marked hostility.

“Why, don’t you know?” Muriel whispered. “She told me all about it: she said you had run down the Army once when you were talking to her last year.”

“Nonsense,” said Daniel, “I’m sure I never did.”

Muriel nodded. “Yes, you did. She said you spoke of the officers of her pet regiment as men who looked as though they’d been through the ranks.”

“But I meant that as a compliment,” he answered. “I meant they looked as though they weren’t afraid of hard work. Had she any other complaints?”

“No, I think that was her only grievance.”

Before she could stop him, he turned and walked straight across the room to Lady Smith-Evered, and came to a halt immediately in front of her.

“I was just asking Lady Muriel how I had offended you,” he said, with disconcerting directness; “and she tells me it was because you thought I had disparaged some of our soldier friends.”

The General’s lady flushed. He saw the red glow creep up from her neck to her face, under the thick powder, and her eyes gleamed menacingly; but she only inclined her head.

“I want to apologize,” he went on. “I’m most awfully sorry: my remarks were stupid, and I think I must have been trying to say something bright. Will you please forgive me?”

The flush deepened. “I’m glad you apologize,” she said, and she glanced at the Guardsman beside her, as though to bid him take notice of what she supposed to be the discomfiture of the offender.

“I’m very glad that you accept my apology,” he said, and with a bow he left her.

“What on earth did you say?” asked Muriel, when he had returned to her.

“I apologized,” he answered, quietly.

“Ate humble pie?” she queried, with a touch of disdain.

“I had hurt her feelings: I’m always sorry to annoy anybody,” he replied.

“Well,” she remarked, “I think you’ve rather annoyed me now, by climbing down like that.” She did not feel that humility suited him, and she was conscious of a sense of disappointment.

“My good girl,” he whispered, “you’ve got a lot to learn from the philosophers. You must let me put you through a course of reading.”

Her disappointment flamed into anger at his words, and she responded coldly to his adieux. When he had left the room she sat down once more upon the sofa, and in the few moments of silence which followed, she experienced a variety of sensations. She felt as though he were the schoolmaster again who had scolded her; she felt abashed and did not know why; she felt angry with him, and, after their happy hours together, her displeasure fell like a destructive hand upon the day’s edifice; she felt that they belonged to different worlds, and that it was hopeless to attempt to understand him; she felt that she was right and he was wrong, and yet there was a doubt at the back of her mind as to whether the opposite might not somehow be the case.